


A Negotiated Break

by mirokai



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Caring Greg Lestrade, Comfort, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Greg is Sweet, M/M, Mystrade Monday Prompts, Overworking, Protective Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:13:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29264844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokai/pseuds/mirokai
Summary: Mycroft needs a break. Greg and Anthea make it happen.
Relationships: Anthea & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 20
Kudos: 93





	A Negotiated Break

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Mystrade Monday's prompt "Please help me." Thanks to the prompt writers for the inspiration! 
> 
> I usually write Mycroft as a spy, but political Mycroft worked better here.

_ Would you call me when you have a minute and M isn’t around? _ Greg sent the text to Anthea and waited. Less than a minute later he received her response. 

_ Text is better.  _

_ I don’t have lightning fingers like you. Please call me its important.  _ Greg could very clearly picture the beautiful woman’s exasperated eye roll. 

_ He’s going into his next meeting in 15 minutes. If you don’t pick up on the first ring I’m hanging up.  _

Sixteen minutes later Greg picked up on the first ring. “Hi Anthea.” 

“What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t rude, per se, just ruthlessly efficient. 

“I need you to get Mycroft to take a weekend off. Preferably a long weekend.” 

Her incredulous laugh was not unexpected. Parliament was embroiled in a political crisis of the Prime Minister’s creation and Mycroft had been working round the clock to sort it out. Greg had barely seen him for the last month, and when they were together Mycroft was exhausted and prickly. 

“He needs a break, Anthea. There’s no way he’s doing his best work right now.”

“He’s doing what needs to be done. We all are.” 

“Sounds like you need a break too. What if you cover for him this weekend and he gives you next weekend off?”

“Impossible, Lestrade.”

“I’m worried about him,” Greg said quietly. “The circles under his eyes look like he’s been punched and he’s getting headaches that he tries to ignore.” 

“There’s no ’try,’ he does ignore them.”

“Yeah, and it’s getting worse. Anthea, please help me. Help me help him. He needs a break, desperately. You know it.”

Her audible sigh passed for acknowledgement and Greg decided to push a little more. 

“Is the world really going to end if he turns off his mobile for a weekend?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “I can think of four things that could lead to physical violence and two ways the United Kingdom could descend into chaos if he were unreachable for more than a few hours.”

“And he probably couldn’t relax not knowing whether something was going horribly wrong,” Greg sighed. 

“I just assumed that drugging him insensible was part of your plan,” Anthea said drily. “It’s not like he’ll agree to this otherwise.”

Greg leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. “Alright, what if there’s a panic button? I leave my mobile on and keep it with us. If one of your six very awful things starts happening you can call me.”

Another pause. “I use my judgment about when it’s necessary to call you.”

“But-“

“I won’t abuse it, Lestrade.”

“For the weekend?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Anthea, please. He probably needs twenty-four hours just to sleep.”

“Fine. Friday night to Sunday afternoon. And I want the same the following week.”

“Yes! Good, perfect.  _ Thank you,  _ Anthea. He’ll be better to work with come Sunday, I promise.” 

“Don't rule out drugging him. It may still be necessary.”

Greg chuckled. “Thank you, Anthea. Seriously. I’m sure I’ll speak with you soon.”

“You’re welcome.” She paused. “You know I do care, Lestrade. About him.”

“I know, Anthea. I wouldn’t have asked you otherwise.”

Friday night found Greg sitting on the stoop of their London home. Anthea had texted him half an hour earlier to tell him that they were leaving the office and she might need reinforcements to confiscate Mycroft’s mobile. 

Inside there was a beef daube on the stove that had been simmering since Greg got home from work hours ago and a gorgeous baguette that only needed a few minutes in the already-warm oven to be divine. Greg didn’t cook much but before she passed, his grandmother had made sure that he knew how to make the classic stew and he was better than proficient at it. Greg had also spent time in the wine cellar using his mobile to search for rating and price information on the available bottles and had picked a cabernet sauvignon with a top rating and an eye-popping price tag. He had opened it very carefully and poured it into the glass decanter without spilling a drop. While the stew was simmering Greg had changed out of the clothes he had worn to work and into jeans that he knew did his ass some favors. He also put on the camel-colored cashmere jumper that Mycroft had given him the previous Christmas. 

The sleek black sedan turned onto their block and Greg’s smile came unbidden. He stood and tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans, his head tilting to the side as he waited for Mycroft to emerge. It took a few moments longer than Greg was expecting, but then the rear door opened and the tall form unfolded. 

_ Uh oh. _ In the decade they had known each other, inclusive of the two years they had been romantically involved and the year they had lived together, Greg had only been on the receiving end of the glare he was now getting a handful of times. That glare contained every ounce of Mycroft’s sophistication, brilliance, and power put behind the considerable malice he was able to summon - and he wielded it like a professional fencer with a rapier. 

“I am given to understand that my assistant has gone rogue and is attempting to purloin my mobile at your instigation.” Anger took Mycroft’s diction to the height of perfection. 

“Hey, love. Welcome home.” Greg smiled and walked down the two steps so that they were on the same level and Greg had to look up a little at Mycroft. 

“Gregory, you do not understand-“

Greg stopped the flow of words by wrapping one arm around Mycroft’s waist and ever so gently touching his fingertips to the corner of his eye. “Those lines there,” he touched the other side of Mycroft’s face, “you only get them when your head hurts.” 

“The state of my head is completely irrelevant,” Mycroft snapped, but he took a deep breath in through his nose and Greg could tell that after weeks of intellectual battling, the gentle physical touch was having its intended effect. 

“‘S not, love. You’re overworked. You’re exhausted and you haven’t been eating enough. You’re taking off until Sunday afternoon. I’m not asking.” 

Without noticing it, Mycroft had started to run his hand over the soft fabric on Greg’s arm. The glare subsided. “I don't need to be deprived of my mobile for that.” 

Greg’s hand cupped the line of Mycroft’s jaw and his thumb stroked the taller man’s cheek. “You do. You know the calls and emails won’t stop and you won’t be able to stop yourself from checking them.”

“And that is precisely why-“

This time Greg stopped him with a kiss on the chin. “You trust Anthea, don’t you love?”

“Of course. Implicitly.”

“Then trust her to cover for less than forty-eight hours. I know she told you that she can still reach you at any point on my mobile. She’ll get you if you’re really needed. You know she will. And in the meantime you are going to eat and sleep and let me hold you. Again, I’m not asking, Mycroft.”

Mycroft elegantly arched an eyebrow up. “You’re  _ just _ going to hold me?”

“When those pain lines are gone and the bags under your eyes are a lighter shade of purple, we can talk about something more.”

“I love you,” Mycroft breathed as he leaned down for a kiss. 

“I love you too,” Greg answered when they parted. He held out his hand, palm up. “Now turn over the mobile, Holmes.” 

Mycroft frowned. “Are you using your copper voice on me, Gregory?” 

“Only if it’s working,” Greg grinned, but pushed his hand closer. “Mobile. Now.” 

Mycroft sighed and placed his mobile in Greg’s hand. Greg kissed his cheek, then stepped around him to lean into the still-opened rear door of the sedan. Anthea was sitting inside, furiously texting as usual. Greg held out the mobile to her. “Anthea.” 

Without looking up, and continuing to text, Anthea reached out and took it. “I’ll be back Sunday afternoon. You will answer if I call, and you will put him on the line if I tell you it’s necessary.”

Greg smiled at her. “Yes, ma’am.” 

Anthea looked at him for a brief moment and one corner of her mouth quirked up in a tiny smile. “Enjoy, Lestrade.” 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For everything.” 

She nodded and he backed out of the car, closed the door and tapped the roof twice. The car pulled off into the night. 

Greg turned back to Mycroft and took his hand. “Come on then, love. Grandm è re’s daube is waiting.” 

Mycroft let himself be led into the house. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments are like a crackling fire on a snowy day.


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